


Metamorphosis

by Plutonic_5



Series: Let Me Take You On A Ride [5]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Biting, Blood Addiction, Blood As Lube, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Brainwashing, Branding, Brutal Murder, Caniballism, Chains, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dehumanization, Dehydration, Detox, Drinking, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, Eye Gouging, Face Punching, Fainting, Force-Feeding, Forced Conditioning, Forced Nudity, Forced Prostitution (Implied), Gaming Shop, Gangs, Grief/Mourning, Human Trafficking, Humiliation, Hypothermia, I'm Sorry, If you consider this is a backstory, Illegal Activities, Implied/Referenced Underage, Insanity, Intimidation, Isolation, Kidnapping, Loss of Control, Loss of Identity, Loss of Sanity, M/M, Master/Pet (Forced), Minor Character Death, Motorcycles, Murder, Name Changes, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Obsessive Behavior, Oral Fixation, Organs, Pain, Panic, Panic Attacks, Pet Names, Physical Abuse, Poisoning, Possessive Behavior, Prostitution mention, Psychological Torture, Recovered Memories, Regret, Self-Harm, Sensory Overload, Sexual Abuse, Stabbing, Starvation, Threats of Violence, Torture, Violent Thoughts, Vomiting, eye eating, lip piercing, praising, shock collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-05 01:40:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15853617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plutonic_5/pseuds/Plutonic_5
Summary: "A change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Me and [@Trashcansasha](https://trashcansasha.tumblr.com/) are back at it again with the angst!
> 
> This is the backstory of the Anti we met for the first time in [Alley Cats.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446434)
> 
> It is a very grim story, full of violence and abuse, beware. I'll add more tags as the chapters come by.

Andreas stirred awake as a ray of sunlight hit his face. He had forgotten to close the curtains last night again. _Great._

He rubbed his eyes open and stretched with a yawn. He glanced at the alarm clock. 9:15 am. _Shit!_ He jumped out of bed, running to the bathroom. He kicked open the toiled seat, quickly emptied his bladder and flushed. He washed his hands and clumsily brushed his teeth, running a wet hand through his brown hair. He glanced at the mirror. He had giant bags under his green eyes from staying up too late the night before, but he looked pretty good.

He crooked his horseshoe septum piercing, just enough to look stylish, and parted his hair to the side. He splashed his face with cold water, pulled a black shirt over his frame with some ripped jeans and old sneakers, got his bike keys and tripped his way out of his tiny apartment.

He got on the bike his parents had given him last year, on his 18th birthday. He loved that bike. He put on his helmet, and drove fast to the nearby gaming shop, about three blocks away.

He got out of his vehicle, taking off his helmet, his hair sticking out in all directions. He got inside the shop, to the back room, and got his little working pin, sticking it to the front of his shirt. He got out of the room to find a girl with very dark skin, her puffy black hair curls neatly arranged in a yellow ribbon. She was tapping her bright yellow nails impatiently on the cashier balcony.

“Maria,” Andreas greeted awkwardly.

The girl’s brown eyes shot up at him. “You’re late again!”

The boy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Broken alarm clock?”

“Broken sleep schedule,” he muttered.

She shook his head with a smile, deep dimples on either side of her cheeks. “Have a good day at work!”

Andreas smirked. “Thanks boss.”

She have him a wink, going out of the door, then called back cheekily, “and fix that hair! It looks like a nest.”

He scowled, carding his hands through his wavy locks, and going behind the counter. _Here we go,_ he thought to himself, _another day at work._

Two little boys— about 7 or 8 years old— ran inside the shop, pushing each other playfully. Andreas smiled.

“Can I help you?” He asked. The boys stopped to look up at him.

“Where are the shooting games?” The first one asked, fiddling with his bright orange cap.

Andreas pointed at a corner of the shop, where fire-gun based games were located. The boys strolled to them, chatting between themselves, gesturing enthusiastically at the shelves.

The boys ended up buying one of the newer games that had just arrived in stock. They paid with their own spare money, and left happily pushing each other around again. He shook his head with a smile. _Ah, kids._

The day went uneventfully enough, with a slight rush of sales since new games had announced recently. He cleaned the shop a bit, took his working pin out of his shirt, and closed the place. He then hopped up on his motorbike, and went back home, just like every day.

As soon as he got home, he kicked his shoes off near the door and dropped on the sofa. He sighed. Long day. He had to leave soon, he had a gig tonight.

Well, “gig” was just a nicer way to refer to it, really. In reality, he was about to put on a black hoodie over his frame, get his knife on his back pocket, and meet up with a gang. They called themselves “The Pack”. _Stupid name,_ he thought to himself.

When Andreas left his parents' house to try to get into university in another town, he found himself with no money very quickly. His parents couldn’t really help him in that aspect, so he had to look for a job. He ended up working at the nearest gaming shop, but the money wasn’t enough. He needed more to get into university.

Small town, no high paying jobs; of course he’d turn to less… legal measurements. That’s when he found the Pack. It was a group of men that stole money, sometimes killing people on their way, and they were _everywhere_.

They quickly realized how quick and agile Andreas was, and quite skilled with a knife. He fitted right in.

Andreas wasn’t a murderer, not really. He mostly just injured people when he had to get what he needed. The Pack, however, wasn’t that merciful. The boy had seen them kill more than once. He didn’t like it, but it was the only way.

He got in his hoodie, pocketed his knife, and put on a black beanie over his messy hair. He looked himself in the mirror. _You look like a burglar,_ he muttered to himself, then huffed. _Well, you are._

He walked outside, until he reached the place they usually met. An old warehouse just outside town, that looked abandoned on the outside, but had lots of stuff on the inside. It had been organized as a hideout of sorts, with different rooms, a wide space they used for shady night clubs sometimes, even an office, where their leader stayed.

Their leader. Probably the most dangerous person around here. He was tall, and was always wearing formal clothes; black pants and shoes, and a shirt, with the collar open and sleeves pulled up to his elbows. He had straight, black hair that fell in front of his right eye, and he always spoke in a smooth, calm voice around the rest. They called him _Dark_ , for obvious reasons.

Andreas didn’t like Dark much. He was creepy, and radiated a weird energy, like you weren’t supposed to be close to him. Ever.

He got inside the warehouse, and was greeted by a man with a red bandana around his neck, and blue eyes. They called him _Lucky_ , because he always seemed to get the right shot.

“Well look who decided to show up,” Lucky said in false astonishment. Andreas rolled his eyes.

“Piss off,” he said, and the man patted his back.

“We got a great job for you today, kid,” Lucky told him, walking them over to the office room.

“I’m not a kid,” he muttered under his breath.

Lucky knocked on the door, and opened it after hearing a low _“come in”_ from inside. Andreas swallowed.

There, sat on his desk doing some paperwork, was Dark. His focused eyes didn’t even leave the papers when they walked in.

“The kid is back,” Lucky announced, and the boss paused.

The man looked up with raised eyebrows, and a welcoming gleam on his gloomy, brown eyes.

“Andreas,” Dark greeted, the name rolling off easily his tongue in a low, easy tone.

“Dark,” Andreas said back, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

“I told you to call him boss,” Lucky chided,

“He’s not my boss,” he stated challengingly.

Dark smirked, amused. “What gives us the _honour_ of your visit?”

“I need cash.”

“That’s not a problem here, you know that,” he smoothly said.

That was the thing about this “job”. He didn’t steal the money himself, he just did what Dark ordered and he’d _give_ Andreas money— acquired by drug deals, prostitution, and finally, stealing.

“Lucky said you had a job for me,” Andreas murmured, hands deep on his pockets.

Dark smiled. “Oh yes, I picked it out just for you.”

Andreas frowned. “You didn’t even know I’d keep coming here.”

“You always come back,” he chuckled.

He scowled. “Just tell me already what I have to do. Who I have to stab.”

Dark’s eyes shone. “Excited, are we?”  He mused, “Very well. Convolvulus Major Street,  at midnight. Lucky can give you the details.”

Andreas nodded.

It was quite an easy task, this time. A guy was in debt with Dark, and that was something he did not tolerate. Andreas was supposed to knock him down and bring him to the warehouse, so the man himself could deal with him.

It didn’t go quite as planned, though.

Andreas was watching said guy go down the street, hidden around the street corner. The man had a cigarette between his lips, and his hands deep inside his pockets. He watched him with a calculated gaze, Dark and Lucky behind him, watching his performance. Dark usually didn’t go to missions like this— he didn’t like getting his hands dirty—, but apparently he wanted to deal with that man as fast as possible.

The boy took out his knife from his back pocket, sharpening it against the cemented wall he was using as a hiding spot, the blade making a high, sharp scraping sound. The victim froze at the noise. Andreas waited for him to turn around enough, and walked silently behind him. He raised his knife to the man’s throat.

“Not a peep,” he warned on his ear. The man closed his mouth, eyes wide.

Andreas looked behind him and signaled with his chin for Dark and Lucky to proceed. They got out of the shadows, and the boy turned around with the victim to face them, knife never leaving his neck.

“Charlie,” Dark greeted. He felt the man on his arms tense.

“Dark-” Charlie gasps, and Andreas pressed the blade further his neck as a warning. The man falls silent again.

Dark smirks. “It seems that you have something that is mine.”

Lucky rubbed his thumb on his gun nonchalantly, and glanced up. “You’re a dead man, Charlie. A ghost.”

Charlie’s breathing picks up. He whimpers low on his throat. Dark gestures to Andreas to let him speak. The pressure of the knife weakens.

“I-I was gonna pay you! I s-swear-!” Charlie blurted.

Dark chuckled grimly. “With what money, Charlie? All cash you have in your account is mine, and I’m getting it back with or without your collaboration.”

The man gulped, and on a whim, elbowed Andreas on his side. He grunted, dropping the knife, and before he could react, Charlie kicked his knee, ruining his balance. Andreas stumbled forward, and the man turned him around, pressing his own knife against his neck, switching their initial position.

Andreas froze. Fuck. He looked at Dark and Lucky, who didn’t have time to react either.

“Dark-” he muttered, wincing when the blade pressed on his neck again.

“Shut up,” Charlie hissed on his ear. He stared at Dark.

“Let me go, and he lives.”

Dark raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You won’t kill him.”

“How could you be so fucking sure?” He growled, yanking Andreas' head back further. He gritted his teeth.

Lucky raised his gun to Charlie’s head. “Let him go.”

“I won’t die by your hands, Dark,” Charlie said. Dark grinned.

“Kid,” he called, “I’m afraid we have no choice.”

Lucky made an indignant noise. “What?! Boss, that makes no sense-”

Dark raised his hand sharply to silence him. Lucky gave him a very confused look, but obeyed.

 _Are they just going to let him kill me?!_ Andreas thought, _what the fuck?!_ He sulked in a breath, and head-butted the man behind him, the blade only nicking a little piece of his skin.

“Fuck!” Charlie cursed, pouncing at Andreas, throwing them both on the floor.

Lucky moved to shoot, but was once again ordered to not intervene by Dark.

Andreas felt Charlie’s fist meet his nose with a sickening crack, then slammed his knee on the man’s sternum, knocking him away from himself. They threw punches at each other, rolling on the floor, trying to get the upper hand. The brown-haired boy got the knife from the ground, and stuck it on Charlie’s leg.

Charlie _screamed_ , taking the knife himself and slashing Andreas' arm. It was the boy’s turn to wail, and his vision went red. _Motherfucker!_ The pain spread through him, and as a panicked response to it, he jumped to the man’s neck on the floor, squeezing his windpipe. Charlie wheezed, loosing his grip on the knife.

Andreas caught the knife from the aggressor’s trembling hands, and in a blind wave of distress, brought the blade down full force, jabbing Charlie’s chest. The man choked, a croaked, pained wheeze leaving his bloody lips, and then his body went limp.

Charlie was dead.

 _Oh, God. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no._ He didn’t mean to kill anyone. He didn’t sign up to this! He was supposed to just threaten, sometimes hurt. But Dark said-

He drops the knife and takes a shaky breath. _Dark._

“Y-You,” he gasps, looking up at the two men watching him. “ _You_ made this happen!” He shouts, standing up in wobbly legs.

“How so?” Dark calmly asked.

“You did nothing! He was going to kill me, and you did _nothing_!” He yells, pouncing at the suited man.

Lucky catches him by his middle. “Kid- calm down-” He tries to argue, then looks helplessly at Dark. “Why didn’t you let me do anything?”

“I knew Andreas had it all under control. I knew he had the _talent_ , Lucky. He’s special,” Dark explains, walking forward to touch Andreas' chin.

The boy wriggles and twists in Lucky's hold, thoughts drowned in anguish. “Get off me!”

Dark gives him a sympathetic smile. “Take him home,” he orders Lucky, “he needs to rest.”

 

Andreas stared at his bedroom ceiling with a blank expression. His mind flashed the blood seeping out of Charlie’s body, smearing his fingers red. He held his knife to his chest, and caressed it absent mindedly.

He had been dropped home by Lucky, and shakily cleaned his blade on the bathroom sink. He laid down in bed and stayed awake the whole night. _I killed a person,_ he kept telling himself.

He huffed incredulously, a startled, strained giggle blurting out from his lips. He snickered at the ceiling, then just crackled, _laughed_ , until his eyes stung with tears and he choked, coughing his lungs out. He ran to the bathroom, and threw up. _Fuck._

He raised a shaky hand to clean his mouth, and spat. _Okay, calm down. It’s fine. You’re fine._ He flushed the toilet, and brushed his teeth, splashing his face with cold water as well. _Fuck this,_ he thought, _I’m getting cash another way. No more gangs, no more killing._

It wasn’t that easy though. Andreas thought he had a choice. Turns out he didn’t.

Lucky showed up at the front of the gaming shop after two days. He swallowed, glancing at the clock, then at Maria, who was leaving for the evening.

“Are you okay?” She asked with concerned eyes, touching his shoulder.

He flinched. “Uh- Yeah, I’m fine. Just, y'know, um… anxiety,” he lied.

Maria gave him a sympathetic smile. She knew about his anxiety issues, and wouldn’t press on the matter; it was a good excuse.

“If you need a break, you can close the shop earlier. There’s not much movement today,” she reassured. Andreas smiled appreciatively.

She left the shop, and he could see Lucky following her with his eyes and an ugly smirk. Andreas grimaced.

The man entered the shop, and walked over the counter, leaning against it.

“Nice place you have here,” he said.

Andreas frowned. “What are you doing in my shop?”

Lucky grinned. “Came to pick you up. We got a gig today.”

“I’m not going.”

“What do you mean you’re not going?”

He glanced at him, keeping his hands busy by cleaning the counter surface. “I ain’t doing that shit anymore, get another hunting dog.”

Lucky rolled his eyes. “Is that because of Charlie? Did it freak you out?” He sighed, “C'mon, kid. It happens.”

“It ‘ _happens’?_ You’re fucking sick,” he spat.

The man chuckled. “Ah, stop that. You’re just as sick as I am, kid.”

“I’m not a fucking kid,” he stated, tightening his hands into a fist. “Get out.”

“Boss ain’t gonna like that.”

“He’s not my boss. Now get out, before I-”

“You gonna kill me too?” Lucky asked in a malicious tone. Andreas’ eyes widened, and the man left the shop with an easy step.

Andreas hit the counter in frustration. _God fucking dammit._ He closed the shop an hour early.

He tried to sleep, he really did. But he just couldn’t. He kept seeing Charlie’s bloodied face behind his closed lids, his hoarse scream. The sound of the knife piercing his skin. The life leaving his wide eyes.

He needed to move. He needed to do _something_. He couldn’t stay still, he needed the adrenaline, he missed the rush before sticking a blade through someone else’s _skin_ -

_No. Stop. You’re sick. What is happening to you?_

A week passed by. He was tired. His step was all but firm, and his mind was slow with fatigue. He walked down the street to his apartment, the night sky grey, yellow hues of the street poles flickering across the pavement, hands deep inside his hoodie pockets.

The was a sound around him. He froze, shoulders tense in a hard line. He took a slow breath.

“Your attention is getting better,” a smooth, deep voice said behind him. He turned around to see Dark stepping out of the shadows. The man tilted his head slightly, yellow light hitting one side of his face.

“It’s called paranoia,” Andreas said. Dark grinned.

“I got more cash for you, don’t you want that?” He asked, stepping closer to him. Andreas took a step back.

“I don’t want your money.”

“You did a week ago,” he kept coming closer, forcing Andreas to step back until he felt hands holding his arms. He paled.

“I-I changed!” He stuttered, looking back to see Lucky and a man with long, brown hair behind him. He struggles against their hold.

Dark stood in front of him, leaning close to his face. “You got talent. I want you,” he purred, mouth going next to his ear, “so I’m going to have you.”

Andreas grunted, squirming, trying to free himself. “You can’t make me, you son of a-”

His phrase was cut short by a very sharp knife against his neck. Dark pressed it against his skin with an intense look, tracing the faint, red nick Charlie had done previously.

“You talk too much, Andreas,” he rumbled, “I want your skills, not your running commentary.”

“Are you going to kill me? Then go ahead,” Andreas said defiantly. He was very scared.

Dark chuckled. “Oh, no, kid,” he mused, taking Andreas chin with a gentle, but firm grip. “I’m just going to give you a warning.”

Before Andreas could understand what he meant, his eyes widened when a sharp, shooting pain spread across his neck. He gasped, the men behind him covering his mouth as he _screamed_ , Dark’s blade piercing his throat following the line Charlie had done on his skin.

The knife split his skin, blood sputtering across Dark’s cheek as he dragged the dagger sideways, gashing his neck from one side to another, slashing his throat, and then pulling the knife out.

The men released his arms, and he drops on his knees, hands coming up to clasp the wound desperately, choking on his own blood. He hyperventilates, drooling down his chin, eyes wide look up to his attacker. He squints, seeing Dark’s silhouette against the yellow light of the street pole that before seemed so faint, but now burned his vision.

He sobs, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and his eyes roll back.

Everything goes black, and he sighs.

 

He hears steady beeping on his left, and frowns. He tries to swallow, only to realize his mouth is very dry. He blinks his eyes open, and raises his hand to rub his eyes.

He’s in a white bed, in a hospital room. There’s a small TV on the wall, and a monitor beside him measuring his heartbeat. His hand has a needle on it, and a transparent liquid goes inside his veins. I’m alive. Right. He hesitantly touches his neck, to feel it wrapped with a lot of gauze.

He glances around him, and freezes upon seeing a man on the corner couch. His heartbeat quickens.

“Easy, now,” the deep voice said in a soothing tone, “panicking won’t do you any good.”

Andreas thought of screaming for help. He opened his mouth and sulked in a breath.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the suited man quickly warned. “Your throat is in bad shape right now.”

He grimaced. His throat indeed hurt a lot. He stared at the man with rage and fear on his green eyes. He remained silent.

Dark made an approving sound, smiling sickly sweet. “You’re much easier to deal when you let the grownups talk,” he sighed, then moved closer to the bed. “As soon as your stitches heal enough, you’re coming with me.”

Andreas frowns, making a scratchy displeased sound. Dark shushes him with his thumb on his lips. He pulls away angrily.

“You either come with me, or I’ll get Lucky to make a nice little visit to your yellow bow friend.”

His eyes widen. _No. Not Maria._ He’d never let them take her. He reluctantly nods. Dark smiles. “Very good.”

Dark stays in his hospital room the entire while he’s there. Apparently he called an ambulance after slashing Andreas’ throat himself, and told them he was a relative of some sort. They didn’t check IDs at all, but Dark probably also had something to do with that.

Surprisingly, his throat was fine. It was like Dark knew exactly where to cut as to just bleed enough for Andreas to loose consciousness and not do any permanent damage. His vocal cords were fine. His air passage hadn’t been injured.

When he finally could get out of bed without feeling extremely dizzy, he glanced at himself in the mirror, and grimaced. There were was a hard, red line across his neck, organic stitches holding it together. _That’s gonna leave a scar,_ he thought.

And he was right. After a few weeks, the hospital released him, and his throat was almost entirely healed, leaving a pale, white gash scarred on his skin. He sighed. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and swallowed all the curses he had on the tip of his tongue.

“Let’s go home, kid,” Dark said close to his ear. He shivered.

At first, it wasn’t that bad. He just had to work for Dark now, and couldn’t go home. He hated it, of course, but he had done those jobs before, he just didn’t have a say on it anymore. _Not that I ever had,_ he realized.

The worst part was the killing, but he had no choice. Every time his knife sank into someone’s chest or slashed a throat, he’d swallow in disgust, stepping back with shaky hands. It did things with his head. He couldn’t stay still, he needed to move. He needed to kill.

He kept himself in check, having times alone or snarking at his new boss. He’d take every chance he had to flip that asshole off. He smirked. At least he had that.

It didn’t last long.

He could see that Dark treated him differently from the rest of the Pack, for some reason. He tolerated more disregard, crude words. He didn’t mind Andreas' insolence as much.

“Andreas, what did I say about putting bloody knives at the table?” Dark chided during dinner.

“I put my knives where I please,” he snarked, biting into a piece of chicken, and drinking a cup of juice that tasted slightly like soap. _Gross_.

Dark sighed. “I’m getting tired of your poor behaviour.”

Andreas huffed. “I’m not your fucking pet, Dark.”

The man’s eyes had a malicious glint on them. The boy scowled. The room seemed warmer all of the sudden.

“If you were, you’d behave way more elegantly.”

“ _Elegantly_ , as in, doing what you want all the time,” he said, and he was starting to sweat.

Dark smiled, nodding to himself as if coming to a conclusion. “I’ll protect you from your own insolence, you’ll be safe with me.”

He didn’t like that tone at all. He stared. “You ain’t tamin' me.”

The man just smiled, and continued to eat his own dinner. Andreas had a headache, and a feeling close to anxiety ran through him. His fingers tapped the table, and he glanced at Dark. The man was watching him closely.

He was so tired. It had been a long day, he had killed at least thrice. He couldn’t wait to get in bed, relax, _sleep_ …

He shook his head, and his vision spun. Dark stood up and walked up to him. He was so dizzy, so _tired_ , almost like it had came out of nowhere.

“What the… fuck… did you do?” He mumbled at Dark, standing up way too fast and stumbling back. He felt nauseous.

“Doing what’s best for you, kid,” he smoothly said, touching Andreas’ arm.

He went to shrug him off, but his brain wasn’t in time with his movements. He leaned forward, holding himself up against the table, and he heard Dark calling for someone, very far away.

His eyes drooped, and once again, it all went black.

 

Andreas groaned, shaking himself awake. _That motherfucker drugged me._ He moved, or tried to, and heard the sound of metal. He was propped sit up in a corner, back against a cold, grey wall. He shifted, looking down to see his hands stuck in shackles pinned to the wall.

A shackle on each side of the corner wall, so his hands were more and less free to move, but he wouldn’t he able to stand up. He shook his head, feeling light-headed.

He heard echoed steps coming closer, and squinted up.

“How are you doing, kid?” Lucky's figure asked him.

“I’m dizzy,” he mumbled.

Lucky nodded. “Dark couldn’t have you running around forever.”

He frowned. “What- _fuck!”_ He cursed, feeling a wave of electricity run through his body. His body shook, and he gasped.

“What did I say about letting him speak?” Dark’s voice called.

“Sorry, boss. He’s still a bit out of it.”

His chin was tilted up by cold fingers.

“What is-” he tried again, only to receive another sharp shock.

He felt Dark's fingers pull on something across his neck.

“This is so we can learn to only speak when spoken to,” he purred.

Andreas' hands raised to touch his own neck. He had a shock collar on.

“Are you fucking insa- _ah_!” He winced. _That fucking hurt._

“I really like you, Andreas,” Dark said, caressing the boy’s chin with his thumb. “I knew I was going to keep you as soon as I saw the gleam in your eyes after your first kill. We’re going to be together from now on, but a few things are going to change.”

Andreas glared, swallowing hard.

“I’m going to teach you how to behave, and then we’re going to be happy. How does that sound?”

_What have I got myself into?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains very heavy stuff and dark descriptions. Read the tags, and stay safe!

Dark walked across the long hallways of the warehouse, his steps echoing through the walls. The men around the place opening the path wherever he stepped on.

He fixed his white shirt's collar, and straightened his pants, standing in front of a heavy metal door. He opened it to reveal a small room, walls unpainted and stained, dirty floor. In the corner, there was a figure struggling against two chains.

The victim looked up with fire in his big, green eyes. “What the fuck are you doing- _ah!_ ” He cried out, as Dark pressed a button in the remote on his pants pocket. He smirked.

“You talk too much, Andreas,” he mused, fiddling with the shock collar's remote on his hand. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll teach you some manners.”

“Over my dead body,” the boy muttered, wincing at yet another shock.

Dark kneeled to his level. “I’d never kill you,” he cooed gently, earning a scowl in return. “I’ll just tame you.”

The first thing he had to do, was to teach the boy how to beg.

He let the boy starve for a week. Only giving him water twice. He was weak, and pale by the end of the seventh day. Dark entered the room with a plate of food in hands, and it smelled delicious, if he had to say so himself.

Andreas looked up with wide eyes, licking his lips. His throat was probably already sore from how many shocks he had taken, since he seemed to not shut up, screaming for food. He was quiet today, at last.

“I brought you food,” Dark said, placing the plate just out of reach of the chains. Andreas lurched forward. Pulling the metal with him.

“Ah, ah,” he chided, then smiled. “You have to ask.”

Andreas glanced back and forth between the suited man and the plate on the floor. “Give me food,” he croaked, lips dry.

Dark gave him a shock. The boy grimaced.

“I don’t want to die,” Andreas’ lips trembled. Dark cooed.

“Then ask properly.”

“No.”

The black-haired man grinned, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Okay.”

He stood up, taking the plate with him, and turning around. He heard the chains being pulled harshly.

“No! Please!” Andreas cried, the hunger taking the best of him, “Please give me, I’m so hungry. I-I'm sorry! Just-”

Dark turned back and leaned down, shushing him with his finger. “There you go,” he said gently, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Andreas' eyes filled with tears, and Dark patted his hair once. The boy stood down, eyes glued to the plate. Dark sat down in front of him, and slowly picked up a fork, opening the boy's mouth by holding his jaw.

He fed him calmly, Andreas swallowing it all fast, almost desperately, and making a mess of himself. He whimpered at the taste of the meal. Dark grinned. “Very good.”

From that day on, Dark continued to starve the boy, and give him food once a week, with two full cups of water. Andreas said ‘please' each time, as his tired mind could only think about nourishment. He used the bathroom—a bucket, that is— twice a week, and slept through most of the day.

He was getting delusional, mumbling to himself when he thought Dark wasn’t near. The shocks made him twitch more each time, and his attitude was finally subdued. All was well.

The next day, he gave Andreas a bath. The boy was filthy, and Dark was never one to neglect his things. He came in the room with Lucky beside him, and a leash on his hand. Andreas' was sleeping.

He looked adorable, all curled up in the corner. Dark pressed the button on the shock remote. The boy twitched in his sleep, and opened his bleary eyes.

“He stinks,” Lucky said, scrunching up his nose.

“Someone is quite dirty, aren’t you, darling?” Dark whispered, kneeling down and touching the boy's pale cheeks.

Andreas frowned weakly, curling up more on himself. Dark shook his head.

“We're giving you a bath, you look like a dirty puppy.”

“He acts like a kicked one, too,” Lucky noted.

Dark clicked the leash on Andreas' collar, and released him from the chains. He gave him a pull, and the boy jerked forward.

“I’m not a do-oh-g,” Andreas mumbled, flinching at the voltage.

Dark smiled, “Not yet.”

He pulled the boy firmly up, Lucky grabbing his arms as precaution. They walked to the bathroom, and put him inside a tub. Dark unclasped the shock collar for safety, and tied the leash to a hook on the wall.

Dark flicked up his pocket knife, and ripped the front of the boy’s shirt down, until he could take it off easily.

“W-Why did you do that?!” Andreas looked wide-eyed at his bare torso, though too weak to fight much.

Dark sighed. “I got other clothes for you, don’t worry.”

He moved his knife to Andreas' crotch, and the boy squirmed back.

“If you fight me, I’ll chop it off.”

Andreas paled, nodding slowly, and stayed deadly still.

Dark cut his pants and underwear off, careful not to injure him, and threw his clothes to the floor. He patted the boy's bare leg. “Very good.”

Lucky turned on warm water, and the tub was filled to Andreas' torso. He spread soap all over his body, knife still in one hand as a constant reminder. Andreas’ cheeks were pink with embarrassment, and he remained silent, eyeing the blade.

“He’s got nice thighs,” Lucky said, eyes travelling down the boy's frame.

Dark smirked, examining him himself. He nodded. “I agree.”

Lucky hummed. “Can I take him eventually?”

“No. He’s mine.”

The red-bandana man rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Lucky went to fix Andreas' hair behind his ear, and the boy emitted a low sound down his throat, not unlike a growl. Dark raised his eyebrows.

“Someone is grumpy,” he commented, pulling on the leash once as a warning.

Andreas scowled, looking down. Dark made an approving sound. He proceeded to clean the boy, then washed him thoroughly, pulling him up and drying him gently. He put a big white shirt over his head, that went down his crotch, and took him back to the room.

“W-What about pants?” Andreas hesitantly asked, flinching precariously in case he received a shock.

Dark patted him in the head. “You won’t need it.”

He chained the boy on the wall again, tying the leash on the wall as well, restraining him more. Andreas grunted.

“The floor is cold,” he complained, and Dark made a sympathetic noise.

“Get used to it.”

 

Andreas' mind was dragged awake by a sudden jolt of deadly chill. He gasped, eyes shooting open with a hoarse yelp. He looked up, startled, to see Lucky holding an empty bucket dripping cold water. Andreas was soaked.

“What was that for?!” He croaked.

Lucky didn’t answer. He heard steps coming from the door, and recoiled as Dark entered the room.

“Good morning,” he smoothly said. Andreas swallowed. His body already starting to shiver. The lack of food reducing his temperature resistance.

Was that why he wasn’t with the shock collar on? Were they going to soak him all day? A clearing of throat jerked him away from his thoughts.

Dark grabbed his jaw painfully, pulling him forward. “I said, good morning.”

He swallowed. “G-Good morning,” he breathed. Dark smiled.

“Today is an exciting day,” Dark announced. “Phase two of your training.”

Andreas stared at him. Dark patted his cheek. “Reconditioning.”

Before he could question the suited man, another splash of cold, icy water hit his face. He coughed.

“Who are you?” Dark asked, unfazed.

Andreas frowned up at him. “A-Andreas.”

Another splash. “Andreas D-Devlin?”

More water. Then another bucket. Then one more. His entire body shivered, lips trembled.

Dunk after dunk, he got soaked to the bone every time Dark made the same question. _What does he want from me?_

He shut his eyes, and hours passed by. He had lost count of how much water he had swallowed, coughed. His hair dripped down his face, his clothes glued wetly to his skin.

His stomach growled. His head hurt. He was cold, so _cold_ , and he was hungry, he was shivering, his vision blurry because of the water on his eyes, or maybe his own brain getting soaked.

“Who are you?” Dark asked again.

“I-” _Splash._ “I-I'm-” _Splash._

Lucky brought a full bucket and placed it in front of him. Dark yanked his hair down, dunking his head underwater.

He held his breath, closing his eyes, the whole world drowning around him as his ears filled with water. He could hear voices, muffled above him, and his own heartbeat on his head. He thrashed against the hold, he needed to breathe.

His head was brought up. He sulked in a desperate breath, before being dunked again. _Fuck!_ He squirmed, his hair painfully pulled, his chained arms pulling against the restraints.

He emerged with a gasp. “S-Stop-!” He cried, then felt a sharp pain on his cheek. Dark had slapped him.

Hours passed, water soaked every bone on his body.

_Who am I?_

_Splash._

_Who am I?_

_Splash._

_Who am I?_

_Splash._

His half-lidded eyes unfocused, his breathing shallow. His thoughts ripped away from him. His head was quiet, the sound of water feeling his ears. He held his breath and gasped, coughed, choked. His nose run, his tears spilled, his body twitched.

His head swam, maybe literally, and he was dizzy. His skin was flushed, cheeks red, and he panted, trying to fill his lungs with air.

He was crying. Wailing, each time his face met the frigid water.

“P-Please s-s-sto-oh-p!” He pleaded.

“Who are you?”

“I-I don’t k-know! Leave me alone! I don’t k-know a-anything!” he cried, and everything stopped. His vision spun, and everything went black.

He woke up a few hours later, with a heavy blanket wrapped around his trembling frame. He whimpered, clutching the fabric between his shaky fingers.

“You were a good boy with all of that water,” Dark's voice told him. He opened his eyes to see the man standing in front of him. He curled up on himself more, and remained quiet.

Dark gave him a sympathetic look. “Are you hungry?” Andreas nodded. “Use your words.”

“Y-Yes,” he sniffled. “C-Can I have food? P-Please?”

Dark nodded. “Yes, I’ll bring it to you shortly.” He leaned down to pet Andreas' wet hair. He didn’t move. The shock collar was back on, he didn’t want to be shocked again.

He paused. If the collar was back, they weren’t going to soak him anymore. He sighed in relief, bringing his hands up to touch the collar happily.

“Do you want this off?” Dark asked, gesturing at the item with his chin.

Andreas’ eyes widened. _No, no!_ He shook his head fearfully, clutching the collar tightly.

Dark smiled. “Very well.”

Lucky came in with a plate of food. It smelled _delicious_. His mouth watered. Dark got the plate, Lucky going back out again. He placed the plate in front of him, and took the fork full of food to Andreas’ lips. He opened his mouth obediently.

He ate, whimpering softly at the taste, and looked up at Dark. “Thank you,” he whispered, and the suited man caressed the boy's cheek with his thumb.

“You’re welcome.”

 

The next phase was re-posturing. Dark chained Andreas' hands to his feet, the restraint long enough to walk either crouched, or on all fours. Either was fine, Dark thought.

The boy at first was confused, which was cute. He wasn’t expecting to leave that corner so soon. It had been about two months since his capture at this point, but the poor boy didn’t seem to have a good notion of time.

“You can walk around this room now,” Dark allowed, then added calmly, “behave.”

Andreas nodded, and shakily crawled away from his corner, his crouched, long legs supporting his weight, his bony hands firmly on the floor. He glanced up hesitantly, and moved a few steps forward.

He looked happy enough, relieved. Dark sighed in contentment. “Good boy.”

Andreas made a resigned noise. He was used to the praise by now. Dark sat on the floor, and gestured Andreas to do what he wanted as he watched.

The boy walked across the room, paying attention to his own hands and feet, his bottom exposed every time he lowered his back. His aware, green eyes darted at him at every step.

Dark stalled his fingers. “Come, boy.”

Andreas' body tensed, and he quickly stumbled to where Dark was. He smiled.

“Very good,” he cooed, carding his fingers through the boy's hair. Andreas shyly leaned into the touch. He must had been incredibly touch starved, after all this time. “Who are you?”

Andreas paused, fear in his green eyes. He clutched the collar around his neck. Dark smiled.

Through the next two months, Andreas was allowed to walk around the room and some hallways crouched down. Dark's men kept their distance, left the boy lurk around corners, touch what he wanted.

The boy's mind seemed to be gone. 5 months of reconditioning was all that it took to ruin a 19 year old mind. Dark sighed. Innocent, fragile minds. So easy to break.

He glanced at Andreas' unruly brown hair. _Hm. Time to change it._

First, he thought about buzzing it all off, as a stereotypical disciplined look. Then he looked at those big, green eyes, and had an idea. He got dark, green hair dye, and got to work.

Like one fixes laces and leashes on a pet, Dark did it for the sole reason that he could. Andreas was his, he could make him look like he wanted, and no one had a say on it.

It ended up looking pretty good. He didn’t know when or if he would retouch it, but now his little boy-pet had messy, green bangs falling over his forehead. It matched his beautiful eyes, and Dark was pleased.

“Boss, he’s doing it again,” a man with dirty blond hair said through his cigarette.

Dark looked down at his pet. He got used to seeing his twitch, and it only seemed to get worse with time. Not that it mattered, he seemed fine.

“He twitches so much, we should call ‘im Glitch,” the man said.

Dark raised an eyebrow. “I like that.”

“Pet,” he called, “You’re Glitch now.”

The boy looked up, then nodded distractedly.

“Who are you, then?” Dark pushed. The boy-pet seemed to pause, touching his collar lightly.

“Glitch. I’m Glitch.” He croaked.

Dark smiled.

In the next week, however, he seemed to be more… jittery. He was growling more than usual, and there was a sign of recollection on his eyes. _Can’t have that._

“Lucky, get the hot iron.”

 

Andreas was told to get to the common room, so he did. He crawled in his shackles, the men around looking down at him with ugly smirks, others with worried expressions.

He stood, although his back was bowed due the restraints, beside Dark, and awaited for a request. His head was noisy, full of voices and numbing pain.

Two men held his arms back strongly, and Dark revealed a long, iron wand, with the word ‘GLITCH' at the base of it. Andreas was confused, a part inside of him telling him to run. Dark's gaze kept him still.

Dark stuck the wand at the fireplace, the flames wrapping the iron and making it glow, sparks of fire going everywhere. He took out the glowing orange weapon from the scalding hot blaze, and pointed it at Andreas.

He froze. _No. No, no, no, no._ _He can’t do this to me!_ His breathing kicked up, shallow pants as he struggled, growled at the men holding him still, and he pleaded, “No! Please, I’ll be a g-good boy, I promise! Don’t!”

It was no use. He looked at Dark's brown eyes, tinted with fire, and his arm was stretched out. The hot iron getting close to his under elbow, and he _screamed_.

His vision went red. His skin glued to the burning letters, tearing his skin with heat, his screams boiling down his gut as he wailed, eyes stung with pain and rage and fear. His head filled with static, all the voices and thoughts shredded to pieces as he _shrieked_ , a torn, hoarse sound that bled through his throat.

The wand was retrieved from his skin, and he was branded forever.

His mind was shattered, filled with sweet, quiet cotton candy. He didn’t need to worry. He was okay. Everything was okay.

 

A month later, the training of his new pet was complete. 6 months. It was all that it took to get a new, obedient little puppy with green eyes. Dark sighed contentedly. He had been a bit stressed out with business man lately. Maybe he needed to rewind.

He got on his room, that he now shared with his new pup, leashed to the corner, and took his tie off, unbuttoned his shirt, kicked off his shiny shoes. He dropped in his big, silky bed, and stretched. He needed to relax.

His hand brushed on his crotch, and he hummed, squeezing himself with a sigh. _That’s what I need._ He took off his belt and unbuttoned his pants, stroking the fabric of his underwear, opening his legs, getting turned on. He fished his cock out, and gave it a few strokes, the tip hitting his own navel.

He heard a confused whine. He paused, propping his elbows up to look at his pet over the line of his own cock. He licked his lips.

“Wanna help, pup?” He cooed, Glitch perking up at his tone. Not that he really knew what was going on, anyway. “Time to make you _really_ useful, hm?”

He stood up, cock out, and moved to the corner the boy was.

“Heel,” he ordered, and Glitch sat on his heels, looking up with wide, lost eyes. “Open up,” he said, tapping his chin with his cock.

Glitch looked confused, his eyes never truly focused on one thing. He hesitantly opened his pretty mouth, and Dark shoved his member inside.

Glitch gagged and choked, looking up with teary eyes and his tongue out. Dark could’ve come right then and there. He bit his lip, hands gripping Glitch’s green hair, and he fucked his mouth.

It was hot and wet, his pet slurping around him, trying to swallow. The boy whined, trying to move away, but Dark sternly yanked his head forward, stuffing his mouth. The suited man closed his eyes, moaning at the feeling, the wet sounds Glitch’s convulsing throat made.

His pet had tears down his face, he looked so lovely. He picked up his pace, getting close to his release, and pulled Glitch’s head to his crotch, chocking him and loading down his throat. The boy gagged and choked.

“Swallow,” Dark breathed, thrusting shallowly to ride his high. The puppy obeyed.

He retreated his cock, a string of saliva connecting it to the pet’s lips, and smeared it on the boy's cheeks. _Gorgeous_.

 

Andreas— no, _Glitch_ was restless. He had been fiddling with his shackles all day, walking back and fourth, almost jumping out of antsy energy. He needed to move. He needed… something.

He eyed a knife left on a table. Maybe he could play with that.

He took the blade in hands and stared at his own blurry reflection, moppy green hair all over the place. He ran his thumb over the sharp edge, a thin trick of blood running down his hand. He was mesmerized. It looked so pretty.

He nicked his own upper arms, a few lines on his chest, some on his thighs. He giggled, looking at all the narrow red lines over his pale skin, smeared with droplets of red.

“Glitch!” Dark’s voice called, he tensed, looking up. “What are you doing?!”

He dropped the dirty knife, bowing his head down. “P-Pretty.”

Dark frowned, kneeling to his level, looking him over. “What is pretty?”

He raised his arms, gesturing to the bloody red lines. Dark shook his head, and gave him a small smile.

“I know it's pretty, puppy, but you can’t keep hurting yourself, understand?” He coached, taking him on his arms to the medical room.

Glitch nodded, cuddling up to him. Dark always took care of him. He cared. He felt safe.

“I think I have a new job for you,” Dark said gently, rubbing his bits with alcohol. Glitch didn’t even flinch. He perked up with a questioning hum.

“Time for a new hunting dog.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it!
> 
>  
> 
> [Wanna talk about it? Hit me up on Tumblr!](http://plutonic-5.tumblr.com/)
> 
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> 
> My [partner in crime's](https://trashcansasha.tumblr.com/) art!: |[1](https://trashcan-dirt.tumblr.com/post/177736317831/do-not-reblog-please-uh-that-second-chapter-of)| |[2](https://trashcan-dirt.tumblr.com/post/177785477586/do-not-reblog-please-he-bit-someones-finger-off)|
> 
>  
> 
> [Effects Of Starvation.](http://www.sedig.org/physical-and-psychological-effects-of-the-starvation-syndrome)
> 
>  
> 
> [Some about the brainwashing process.](https://psychologenie.com/brainwashing-techniques)
> 
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> 
> [Pinterest Board.](https://www.pinterest.co.uk/trashcansasha/soft-boys-in-leather-jackets/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's pacing is very messy, so I apologize. I've been going through some stuff, so take it easy on me!
> 
> Read the added tags, this chapter contains heavy gore, stay safe!

The first year having his little dog, was all about training him.

Dark didn’t want to hurt his pet, he really didn’t. But pain was necessary to become better. Glitch needed to be faster, more agile,— deadly. So he had to train him, of course.

To be a hunting dog, one first had to dominate a weapon of choice. It didn’t take long for Dark to know the knife was Glitch’s favourite after the little cutting incident. His boy learned the beauty of blood, and he couldn’t be more proud.

His training firstly consisted of dodging attacks. He had to be sure his puppy wouldn’t get hurt in foreign hands. He locked him in a room, and told some of his men to throw blades at him.

Glitch dodged most of them. His pounce got more precise, until he could catch the blades himself and throw back. His chest was full of long cuts, but he was fine.

“Boss!” One of his men shouted, “Lynch is down!”

Dark frowned. “Who did it?”

“Your dog.”

He raised his eyebrows. He got inside the room to see Glitch crouched on top of a man with ginger beard, in a puddle of blood. His pet was shaking, giggling under his breath, and he looked up at Dark with big, green eyes.

“Why did you kill him?” Dark asked, kneeling down to his level.

Glitch glanced down at the body then back at him. “Hurt.”

“Did he hurt you?” He asked, eyes already searching in the boy's body.

Glitch raised his shirt to reveal a pocket knife stuck on his skin, seeping blood. The suited man's eyes darkened.

“Then he deserved to die,” he said simply.

He took the blade out of the pet's belly, hearing him whimper quietly, and pressed down the wound. “Let’s get you patched up.”

It didn’t stop there. Glitch had officially learned how to kill anyone who hurt him, or offered any kind of threat for Dark himself. Bodies started to appear out of nowhere around the warehouse, and Glitch's white shirt was always stained red.

He sighed, cleaning Glitch’s face with a clean handkerchief for the fifth time this week. His pet was restless, he needed to get in action soon.

“Fester got cut open just yesterday, and now Rigs? Your bitch is turning into a disadvantage,” a man said, he had a cut on his brow bone and was missing half of his left ear.

 “He just wants to play,” Dark said, petting Glitch's hair.

“Well then give him toys that aren’t our best shooters.”

He pursed his lips. “I’ll get him on the next mission.”

It was quite simple. Get in, kill the competition, get out. He got Glitch on his leash, let him out of his shackles, and put him on some loose pants. He fixed his own tie, and looked at him.

“Today you’ll get to play,” he muttered, brushing the green strands of hair our of the boy’s forehead.

Glitch tilted his head slightly, blinking up at him. His back was rather bowed so he stood smaller than the suited man. His green eyes were set in a beautiful vacant expression, as if he couldn’t really focus on what was in front of him. Dark sighed. _Perfect_.

They got to the location, and waited in a dark corner. Lucky stood to his right, a gun on each hand. Cain, a muscular dark-skinned man with a curly black ponytail, at his left, held a machete over his shoulder. The third man, Rudy, a bald head full of tattoos, guarded his back.

He unclipped Glitch’s leash, and paused. The boy didn’t even move. _Wonderful_. He scratched behind of the boy’s ear, and cupped his cheeks, looking straight at him.

“If you get hurt, just scream.”

Glitch nodded, and got into a pounce position.

The competition didn’t even stand a chance. As soon as they got in their vision perimeter, the boy jumped up, a knife in hand, and stuck it on the first man's back. He jabbed two, three times, then threw the body like it was nothing to the side. The second man sliced the air right in front of Glitch as a warning— it was no use. He got the knife from the man’s hands, and stabbed him, a knife on each of his sides, then retreated the blades, seeping blood staining his hands.

A third man got him from behind, but Dark signaled his men to stand by. He needed to see how good his pet was.

Glitch nailed all of his expectations. The attacker tried to choke him from behind, only for the boy to yank the man's hair forward and throw him over his own head. As soon as the man’s back hit the ground, he had a knife drilled on his neck.

Everything went quiet. His men were looking at his new hunting dog with wide eyes, frozen in place. Glitch started to shake, dropping the knife, and giggling hysterically to himself, smearing blood all over his face and hair. Dark fixed his own hair back and strolled over to him.

He placed his hands on the pet's shoulders, and clipped the leash on his neck again. He pulled on it gently, as to try to ground him, and tucked his bloody face on his own neck. He rocked slowly from one side to another, petting his hair and shushing him like he would with a toddler.

“You did so well, good boy,” he whispered, and Glitch whimpered. _Mission complete._

 

Glitch didn’t really understand the rush that went through him when it was playtime, but he liked it. He went in every killing mission of the Pack, and always ended dripping red. He licked his fingers clean and hummed. Blood tasted so… _alive_ , in a way that he couldn’t quite comprehend anymore.

He needed to protect Dark. Dark took care of him. Dark loved him.

He didn’t need the shackles at _home_ anymore, he could freely walk around the place, stay at the Pack's feet, play with his knives. On playtime days, he had to sleep tied by the leash at the wall, but Dark said it was for his own safety. He got a bit too jittery.

“He’s kinda cute, isn’t he?” One of the men in the room said.

Glitch was drawing lines with his knife on empty glass bottles at the bar. A few men were sat on the counter, other just drinking on the floor. His head was quiet, and he focused on the faint, sharp noise of his blade scraping the glass.

“He’s pretty,” another guy allowed, “always with his ass out around the place,” he snickered.

The first voice chuckled back. “Boss is lucky.”

“Do you think the boy is still there somewhere?”

“Glitch,” the second once called. He raised his bleary green eyes at him. “No, I don’t think so.”

The first one shrugged.

Through the second entire year in Dark’s domain, he got to play in every single mission. He got precise, fast, and known among the gangs around the entire world as Dark’s killing machine. Glitch didn’t mind, Dark always seemed so happy with his killing work. He was proud of him, and that’s all that mattered.

Playtime wasn’t enough as the third year went by, though.

He needed more. _More, more, more._ He needed to keep his head quiet, to keep the static at bay.

Dark understood him, of course. No one knew him better than Dark. The suited man tried to get around the problem. He bought squeaky toys for him to distract himself, and he bought tasty treats in the shape of bones. Glitch didn’t really get it, but he appreciated the effort.

It came to a time where he needed more playtime. So Dark got him a personal room, and when he got too fussy, he’d give him bad men to get rid of. To tear apart.

The first time it happened, it was fast. A man was shoved inside the room with him, and he got permission to attack. He pounced on top of him, knocking the man down.

“Get off me, you fucking freak!” He shouted, but Glitch was too strong.

He plunged his knife into the man’s chest, and dragged the blade down his navel. The victim _screamed_ , writhing and kicking Glitch in the stomach.

The boy presses his thumb on the man's wound, digging his finger inside, feeling the walls of muscle against his skin. He drowned the screams out, his own breathing the only sound on his ears.

He drops the knife and, with both hands, pulls the deep gash apart, opening his skin with such force, tearing him open, blood seeping out everywhere. He digs his hand deeper, like the body was a chest full of treasures, and pulls out… something. It didn’t matter. He squeezed and popped, wet sounds and gross liquids staining his clothes.

He clawed the man's insides, taking everything he could out. He cracked his bones. He pulled the tendons. He poked the squishy, soft organs. He felt _alive_ , he felt.. new.

The door opened, a streak of light hitting his face. A tall, straight silhouette looked down at him, hands behind his back. He looked up, a leaking liver between his fingers. He growled, baring his teeth.

“Did you have fun, pet?” A familiar voice asked. He recoiled in respect, hugging the organ to his chest. Dark stepped into the silent room, kneeling at his level, not stepping on the mauled body. “You made a mess, didn’t you?”

Glitch’s stomach growled. Dark chuckled. “You must be hungry after all of this, hm?” The boy nodded. The suited man’s eyes glinted.

Dark teared a piece of the liver and pulled Glitch's jaw open. He pushed the piece inside his mouth.

“Chew.” He obeyed.

New flavors exploded on his tongue, red juices going down his chin. He frowned at the taste, and swallowed the food looking straight at Dark. The suited man patted his head. “Good boy.”

 

Dark sat back as his pet chewed a liver, looking down at the destroyed body in front of him. The dead man's eyes were left open in a horrified expression, his mouth twisted in a snarl.

His torso was tore open, all kinds of gunk and full of sludge. Human beings were so disgusting. Untamed rats, _vermins_ crawling down the sewer, burning in the fires of scum anguish.

He looked at his boy, feeding on that filth. His face smeared with reds and yellows and hints of green. His hands slippery with muck. It smelled putrid.

“Come on, let’s give you a bath, hm?” He said, patting his leg to call his attention.

Glitch looked up, and dropped the remains of the liver, a wet sound hitting the insides of the dead body. _Right back where it belonged._ He smiled. His boy was so smart.

They left the room, Dark muttering an order for the place to be cleaned, and took Glitch to his bathroom. His boy was the only one worth getting his white tiles dirty. He stripped him, and put him inside the tub.

He touched the boy's neck with a hum. “I got you a collar, buddy,” he said softly, and Glitch smiled.

“New one?” He feebly asked.

Dark smiled. “Yes, a new one. You don’t need the shock one anymore, you’re a good boy now.”

“Good boy?”

“The best boy,” he nodded, filling the tub with warm water and washing his hair first. He hadn’t re-dyed the green ever since, but he quite liked the yellowish colour on the long bangs.

He cleaned the rest of his body, the water going red with blood and brown with chunks of… something or the other under the boy’s short nails. He got a clean towel, dried him down, and put him on a black, baggy shirt that went down to his bottom. He brushed the yellowish curly strands of soft hair back from his green eyes, and the boy yawned, rubbing his face.

“Bedtime,” Dark said, walking them to his room, where Glitch had his own giant dog bed with some toys scattered around. The boy sat down, and Dark kneeled to his level, putting a collar around his pale neck. It had a few spikes on it, and a large ring for him to clip the leash when needed. He looked at the boy expectantly.

“Thank you,” he whispered with a hint of fear in his big eyes. It was adorable.

“You’re welcome.”

The next day, he had an important party on the warehouse. It was full of business men, luxurious prostitutes, the most expensive drinks. The place was crowded, and it smelled like cigarettes, sex and high-priced cologne.

Dark didn’t particularly… enjoy those things. It was just work.

Like all big gatherings, he chained his pet on the wall, in the corner of the party. His boy wasn’t always the most docile when it came to strangers. He got agitated with all the noise. Poor thing.

He didn’t like leaving his pet in the corner, really. He knew that people couldn’t keep their curiosity to themselves, and bothered the boy, trying to get a reaction. Dark decided to chain him down after he bit someone’s finger off.

He had to walk around the party, give in to polite, fake conversations, then check up on his pet every few hours. Glitch would usually just be sleeping, or tiredly staring at nothing in particular.

“You should poke it,” he heard a man say to his partner, both looking curiously at a sleeping Glitch.

“Not a chance. I don’t know if it has any diseases,” the other said with a disgusted expression.

Dark sighed, walking closer. Bunch of idiotic individuals.

“If you’re fond of keeping your blood inside your own body, I’d advise not to touch what’s not yours.” Dark put his hands behind his back.

The two men looked at him carefully. “How much is it?” One of them asked.

“He’s not for sale.” Dark stated.

“C'mon, Dark. Just get another one. There’s a bunch of boytoys around,” the second guy said.

“Then get one yourself,” Dark offered in a monotonous tone.

“But this one is so pretty,” the first man said, inching closer to the curled form on the floor, gently prodding Glitch with the tip of his shoe. He stirred slightly.

“ _Dark_ ,” Glitch mumbled on his sleep, like he always did when he was about to wake up.

Dark's face softened, fond, then he glared at the men, who were now wide eyed.

“I didn’t know it could talk!” The first one whispered.

The second guy elbowed him on the side. “Of course it can, it’s technically a person.”

Dark rolled his eyes internally. “He’s mine. Go enjoy the party, why won’t you?”

The men grumbled, walking away.

Dark kneeled to his boy’s level, and caressed his pale cheek with his thumb. Glitch sleepily nuzzled closer, peaking one eye open.

“Dark?” He muttered, frowning at the sounds of glass shattering somewhere on the warehouse.

“Keep an eye out for nasty men, boy. They’re all a bunch of dum-dums,” he cooed. Glitch nodded.

 

The was another business party a week later. Glitch didn’t like those. He always had to stay in the corner because of that one day he was a bad boy and chomped a finger off.

He sighed, laying back on the cold wall and looking around. There was a lot of lights, and people. He didn’t really like people. People were noisy. They were… touchy. They smelled weird.

The music pumped on his ears, making the walls vibrate. There was smoke, and voices. Lots of voices. Some high-pitched, some rumbling, and some dragged, low sounds, alike what Dark did when he was relieving some stress, pounding into him and calling him a good boy. He smiled. He always had extra cuddles on those days.

Some men prodded and poked at him periodically, but he ignored them. They wouldn’t hurt him. Dark protected him.

He yawned, closing his eyes. His head was empty, blissfully empty, like always. He liked it. It was… freeing, to not think. He didn’t need to.

His mind was on its way to the drowning waters of sleep when suddenly, something squeezed his neck, and his jaw was forced apart. His eyes flew open, and he thrashed, letting out a hoarse, startled shout.

Liquid was poured down his throat, and he choked, coughed, and his neck was squeezed hard enough to leave black spots on his vision. He sulked in a desperate breath, and his head throbbed.

“There you go,” a voice said, he couldn’t tell where it came from. His ears ringed loudly, and he was very dizzy. Something was pushed inside his mouth, gagging him. “Get the bag.”

“Be quick,” another voice said, and something was put over his head, and tied around his neck.

He hyperventilated. He couldn’t breathe with the cloth over his head, he couldn’t see. _Are they going to suffocate me? Am I going to die?_

He heard his chains being broken, and he was shoved inside… something. He heard a zipper. He was inside a giant bag, it seemed. A body bag.

“Done, go, go, go,” one of the voices hushed, and he was pulled off the ground, jostled from one side to the other, and he tried to scream through the gag, he tried to breathe.

His head hurt, his stomach contracted. His limbs were cramping, and he couldn’t move. He squirmed, and got kicked in the back. Pain spread through his entire body, and he felt faint. _I need to breathe. I need to breathe._

_I am going to die._

Dark was strolling around the place, nodding his head politely at guests, when he decided to check up on his boy. He was probably sleeping, near the bar, as usual.

He walked to the corner he was chained, and froze. The chains were shattered on the floor, a big plier left on the floor. His blood ran cold. His boy was taken.

He got his gun out of his suit, and cocked it. Dark rushed to back door of the warehouse, and called in two of his men.

“What happened?” One of them, who had blue long hair in a ponytail, whispered, cocking his own gun.

“Glitch was taken,” Dark announced, and both men paled.

The three of them went outside, and quietly looked around. They heard a thump.

“Don’t drop it like that!” A voice chided.

“Open the door,” another said, and they heard a sound of a car door opening.

Dark got out of the shadows, and pointed his gun forward. “Don’t move.”

The men froze. “D-Dark?!” One of them squeaked.

“You have something that belongs to me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, s-sir,” the other stuttered, just as the bag on the floor moved slightly.

Dark raised a hand. Everyone went dead quiet. Faintly, a hiccupping noise came from the floor, and it sounded like sobbing. Dark's eyes darkened.

“You have five seconds to leave.”

The men glanced at each other, and raised their hands, walking back slowly. “Okay, okay, Dark. We’re sorry. No hard feelings, eh?”

 _Bang_. _Bang_.

Two bodies dropped on the floor.

Dark rushed to the bag, and opened the zipper with shaky fingers. He found his boy, curled up and trembling inside, a cloth over his head, tied around his neck.

He got his pocket knife, and teared it down. Glitch's eyes were shut closed, face smeared with tears and drool around a gag. He released him, and he coughed weakly.

Dark cupped his cheeks, and searched his face worriedly.

“Pet,” he said gently, a hint of desperation on his voice. “What did they do?”

Glitch opened hazy eyes, and panted. He gagged, throwing up at the side. He coughed, gasping, and choked on his own saliva.

“Boss,” one of his men called, the one with at least five lip piercings, crouched on top of one of the bodies. “There’s poison on his pocket.”

Dark's eyes widened. “Okay, okay,” He said to himself, and picked Glitch up, cradling him on his chest, and ran to the warehouse’s infirmary. He was lucky he had doctors that were specialized on this kind of thing.

He got his boy on one of the beds, and Glitch clutched at Dark's shirt like a lifeline. He shushed him, and the doctor got ready for the detoxification process.

It took a while, but he did it. Glitch was sleeping soundly, various serums being injected through a needle on his arm. He was pale, his lips dry. But he was alive.

 _No one will take you away from me_ , he thought, caressing the boy’s cheek.

_As long as I breathe, you’ll be mine._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Leave a comment to make my day!
> 
> [Sasha's](trashcansasha.tumblr.com) drawing!: |[1](https://trashcan-dirt.tumblr.com/post/178005981331/do-not-reblog-please-all-dolled-up)|


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mental health has been knocking me down recently, so I hope this isn't too messy!
> 
> Since this chapter is pretty important, there's a "*" at the beginning and the end of a sexual abuse scene for those who'd like to skip it but still read the rest! Have fun!

Glitch was kept at Dark's office after the poisoning accident. On business parties, he just stayed inside the room and took a nap. 

The strands of his hair were a faded green, very yellow now. His dark brown roots looking almost grey, growing like poisonous weeds in an once joyful green garden. Not that it mattered. No, appearances didn't matter. Unless Dark's friends came over, then appearances were important.

He had to look pretty when he was present at business meetings, on the same office. Dark would sit on the big chair, behind the shiny desk, and Glitch would sit by his feet, as the suited man absent-mindedly played with his yellowish locks.

He didn’t like these meetings. The people who always tried to trick Dark were crude, their smiles ugly. They all talked in such pompous way, like strong perfume trying to cover up the smell of filth, and they always laughed. Laughed, like they were all the greatest of friends, and told themselves the funniest jokes.

Sometimes, though, their tones were too aggressive, too sarcastic, and Glitch wouldn’t like it. He’d growl as a warning, and press closer to Dark. 

Other times, things wouldn’t end that simply. Men who cheated or tried to steal had their fates written in stone as soon as Dark gave Glitch an order. 

Today, was one of those times. A man with a scarred face and a red bowtie came to complain about… something, and it got out of hand.

“You said I’d get 50% of the total. I got barely 15%!” He shouted, pointing his crooked finger at Dark’s face.

“There was a misunderstanding,” Dark tried to explain in a calm, collected voice.

“Bullshit! You’re full of  _ shit _ , Dark!” The man spat, taking a gun out of his pocket and pointing it forward.

Dark didn’t even blink. Glitch growled.

“I’d advise you to calm down.”

“Fuck you.”

Glitch pounced. His vision blurry with pure rage, his hands reaching his victim and tackling them to the floor. He growled, sinking his teeth on the man’s cheek, and ripping a chunk out.

He spat to the side, the victim's screams muffled in his ears. Blood coating his fingers, smearing his mouth. He cracked the man’s jaw open, and sunk his knife into the eye socket, blood and liquids splattering on his face. 

He pulled the blade out of the man's skull, and cut the cords that kept his eyeball in place. Glitch took the eye, and bit down on it. Bitter, watery juices exploded inside his mouth, the taste of copper on his tongue. It had the texture of a boiled egg, only cold and slimier. He swallowed it down, and looked at the eyeless hole he left behind.

Everything was quiet, and he looked up, licking his fingers, to see Dark standing in front of him.

“Good boy,” he said, “he won’t bother us anymore.”

Glitch felt… good. Ecstatic. Each day, his urges for violence were harder to contain. Like he needed something, to fill an empty space inside of him.

He got more aware of how empty he was, and he didn’t understand. His thoughts were simple, his head was quiet, but it was the kind of silence that was eerie, like a mysterious wind carrying all kinds of untold secrets.

He was probably looking too much into it.

The pile of bodies only grew and grew, to the point where he had to be chained by the wall during daytime. He didn’t mind. 

Everyone who passed by him— members of the Pack or strangers—, all knew who he was. Like he had some kind of reputation outside his little blood bubble. Maybe the whole world knew about him.

He paused. Something strange stirring inside his mind.  _ If everyone knows about you, why haven’t they came for you?  _ He shook his head with a frown. 

The next day, he had some playtime in the “bloody room”, as he called it. But for some reason, he couldn’t really focus. Usually his mind went quiet, when he killed. When he  _ destroyed _ . It felt… freeing. That day, however, the static on his head seemed louder.

_ Why haven’t they looked for me? _

The sunk his knife on the gory corpse in front of him. When had he killed it? It didn’t matter.

_ Have they forgotten about me? _

He scraped the corpse's insides with sharp, wonky slides.

_ Why?  _ He pulled some tendons out, like the strings of a putrid puppet.  _ Why? _ He snapped them apart, feeling blood dripping down his arm.  _ Why? _ He heard a sound behind him. It didn’t matter.  _ Why? _ Someone touched his shoulder, and he didn’t move.

“Glitch!” A voice called louder, and his vision focused. Dark was in front of him. When had he come in?

“Why?” Glitch croaked, frowning at his own question. He wasn’t supposed to question things.

Dark scrunched up his eyebrows. “What do you mean, ‘why'?”

He ran his filthy, slimy hands through his yellowish hair, and held his own head. “They… forgot.”

“Who?”

Glitch shook his head. “They  _ forgot _ .”

“Okay, about what?” Dark asked, confused.

“ _ Me!” _ He shouted, then recoiled. He was shaking.

Dark hummed. “Let’s go to my room. I think you need to rest, pet,” he said in a gentle tone. 

Glitch complied.  _ Forget, forget, forget. _

 

Dark sighed, looking at the sleeping body on the corner of his room. Glitch was twitching, as he always did in his sleep. Maybe he was cold, maybe he was tired. 

His boy had been too stressed lately. After three years of good behavior, he was finally starting to slide out of the curve. He was agitated, he was  _ thinking _ , and that was unacceptable.

Dark had secretly hoped that one brainwash was enough for Glitch, but the boy had a strong mind. It was very probable that he’d have to reinforce his influence in his little, confused brain after a while.  _ Shame _ .

He walked up to the boy, and kneeled down to his level. He raised his hand to touch him, and suddenly, Glitch jolted awake, almost biting Dark's finger off. He raised his eyebrows, and the boy’s eyes widened.

“I-I'm sorry,” he whispered, fiddling with the big ring of his collar.

“How about some playtime, to spend all that energy?” He offered, Glitch perked up.

Playtime went as smoothly as ever. Dark heard screams, then growls, and everything went silent. Then, there were quiet, strained giggles. He shook his head.

He walked in, the putrid, bitter smell of blood and guts across the floor hitting his nostrils, and in the corner of the room, there was his boy. He was kneeled, back bowed as he giggled and coughed, splatters of red coming out of his mouth. In his hands, a half eaten lung.

“ _ No, no, remember, remember, _ ” he heard Glitch mumble in between laughter.

Dark pursed his lips, closing the door behind him. The boy looked up with teary eyes. The thing about Glitch was that eventually, he’d freak out over nothing. Like his forgotten, frail human brain realized momentarily how disgusting blood was.

He strolled to him, and held the boy’s chin with his cold fingers, tilting his head up. He caressed his beautiful, stained jaw, and the sight of his porcelain, delicate face smeared red was enough for him to feel an euphoria run through him, his whole body heating up.

He caressed Glitch ‘s jaw, and hummed. “Who are you, boy?”

The young man’s breath hitched, and he started to shake. “I-I-” he stuttered.  _ Not good enough. _

***** He moved his thumb to the boy’s lips, and shoved it inside his bloody mouth. Glitch immediately wrapped Dark’s finger with his thumb, and sucked. His shoulders seemed to relax.

Dark hummed. “You look like you need to relax, don’t you?” He purred, “you always get so calm when you have something in your mouth… Maybe that’s why you bite so much, hm?”

Glitch didn’t answer, he appeared to be almost hypnotized, like he always did when he had something to do with his mouth. Maybe it was some kind of oral fixation. Not that it mattered.

He stared at his own finger, smeared by Glitch’s saliva, and he licked his lips. He had to keep his boy on track, might as well let some tension out.

With his other hand, he unzipped his pants, and squeezed his crotch with a sigh. He stroked himself through the fabric of his underwear, and caressed Glitch’s tongue with his thumb.

“Okay, darling. Let’s give you a treat.”

He fished his member out, and pulled Glitch’s jaw open, guiding it to the boy’s mouth full of blood. The young man seemed to hesitate for a fraction of second, but closed his lips around Dark’s cock.

He groaned contentedly, moving his hands to Glitch’s hair. He pushed himself deeper until the boy’s nose brushed against his navel. Wide, green eyes looked up at him as he swallowed Dark down, warm blood and saliva coating his cock.

It was wet, thick, slimy against his pulsing skin. Glitch drooled blood down his chin as Dark’s cock slided in and out easily, slippery, as if coated with a coppery, flavoured lube. The young man’s agitation seemed to subdue.  _ Perfect _ . He always knew how to help his boy.

He fucked his pet’s face, a string of muck, filthy gunk all over his face, Dark’s cock coated with reds and blacks, some  blacks, some spare chunks and pieces of dead skin.

Wet sounds filled the room, and Glitch’s eyes were half-lidded, jaw slack, arms on his sides, faint, choked grunts coming out of his mouth. He sped his movements, guiding the boy’s head back and forth like he was a warm, dumb fleshlight. 

He tensed, nails sinking in Glitch’s scalp as he pulled him forward, buried to the hilt, and came down his throat. He pulled out quickly, a few spurts of cum splattering across the boy’s face, a mosaic of blood, drool and cum, making the most disgustingly perfect sight.

It so was obscenely filthy, vulgar and crude. It felt powerful, and fucking  _ delicious _ . 

He tapped the boy’s cheek with his wet cock, absent-mindedly slapping him repeatedly with it, dragging the filth all over his face. Glitch’s eyes were unfocused, his mouth slightly agape, and most importantly,  _ gone _ .  *****

 

Despite Dark’s tries, Glitch’s mind was revolting against him. His thoughts loud, his energy deadly, until 3 weeks later he attacked one of Dark’s best dealers for no reason.

Well, for Glitch, it was justified. The man’s presence was just bothering him, he was tired, he was angry. So he just pounced and sliced the dealer’s face in half. Dark was  _ not _ happy about that.

“Four years. You lasted well,” he told him, dragging him across a familiar hallway. “It’s about time we reinforced your training.”

Glitch frowned. He didn’t understand. His eyes widened upon seeing a big, heavy door. He froze in place. 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Dark hushed, clipping Glitch’s leash and holding it tight. “It’ll be quick. Then you won’t have these bad thoughts anymore.”

Glitch was pulled to the door, and he tried to fix his feet in place.  _ No, no, no, no. _ He was shoved inside, to a very familiar corner.  _ Not again, not again.  _ He was chained to the wall by wrist shackles, and he looked up with big, green eyes.

“You’re getting a little timeout, for being naughty,” Dark said, kneeling down to his level and holding his chin with a finger.

“I-I'm sorry, I-” he stuttered, and was cut short by a sharp slap on his cheek. His head was thrown to the side, and his face stung.

“No talking,” Dark stated, and caressed the boy’s pink cheek, “be a good boy, and you’ll get out soon.”

His lip trembled, and he kept his eyes down. With a final pat in the head, Dark left him alone, shutting off the lights and closing the door.

He took a shaky breath, and buried his face in his hands.  _ Okay, okay. Dark said it’d be quick. Soon I won’t have to deal with these thoughts anymore. Soon I’ll be free again. _

Time passed, and a few members of the Pack gave him food and water twice a day.  _ At least they aren’t making me starve again.  _ He took quick showers every few days, and was overall… fine.  _ It’s just a timeout, it’ll be over soon. _

It wasn’t working. What was supposed to keep him isolated and alienated, was making him insane. His thoughts, who were supposed to match the dark silence of the room, only got louder. 

_ You’re not supposed to be here, _ his mind kept whispering,  _ you have forgotten. _ He listened to a faint gutter in the room. 

_ Drip. _

_ Silence, silence. _

_ Drip.  _

_ Breathe, feel. I’m here. _

_ Drip. _

_ Am I here? Where am I? _

_ Drip. _

_ Forget, remember. _

His body shook, heartbeat in time with the falling water drops somewhere. He curled up, back against the cold wall, head between his knees. Echoes of memories flashing across his head.

He heard an alarm clock, he heard friendly voices. The sounds of children blasting excitedly in through a door. Dogs barking in the street. A blanket that smelled like soap. Day old noodles in the sink. The beeping of a hospital machine, the promises of a nice, suited man.

Lies, so many of them, and a soft caress. A colourful magic cube, math riddles on the newspaper. Ripped house bills, a pile of books. Dreams, hopes, tragedy. Then a blur. A black and white smudge on his brain, numbing poison, spreading on huge waves of a blood red ocean.

_ Silence! _

_ Be still. _

The wind died down, and it was perfectly calm again.

Time passed again. He didn’t know how much, but the thing about time is that he’s a comforting— yet terrifying— presence. It’s always there, and you just  _ know _ it’s ticking down on your ears. 

The door opened, and the lights were turned on. He squinted at the brightness, his eyes stung, so used to being in the darkness, and he hid his face on his knees.

“Hey, buddy,” Dark's voice called gently, as if approaching a cornered animal—and in a way, he was. 

Glitch didn’t move.

Dark closed the door behind him, and walked up to the boy, his steps echoing across the walls. He kneeled to his level, and placed his hand on Glitch's yellow bangs. The young man remained still.

“Your timeout is over, darling. You’ve been a good boy,” Dark whispered, petting his hair. 

Glitch started to shake.

Dark cooed. “You can come with me now, you won’t be alone anymore. You know I’d never leave you, don’t you?” He undid the shackles on the boy’s wrists, releasing him.

The metallic sound of chains hit the ground, and Glitch slowly shifted, raising his head from his knees and looking at his red wrists. He opened and closed his palms, and kept his eyes down. His chin was tilted gently up, and his green eyes met Dark’s brown ones. The man’s face was set in a soft expression.

“I got a new toy for you,” he said, and placed something on his pale hands.

Glitch looked down, to see a sharp, shiny pocket knife, with a green tint on the blade. It fit perfectly on his hand, and he ran his thumb over the edge, watching a thin trick of blood run down his skin.

He hugged the knife to his chest, and very quietly croaked, “thank you.”

Dark smiled, cupping the boy’s cheeks with cold hands. He leaned forward, and kissed Glitch’s forehead tenderly, then his nose, his dry lips.

Glitch’s mind was buzzing with static, his heartrate picking up. 

“I missed you so much, pet,” Dark whispered against his mouth, “you’re the only one worth my time in the middle of all these filthy dogs. Your place is with me.”

He smelled Dark’s cologne, so close to him. His nicotine breath ever present. He closed his eyes, and leaned slightly forward, pressing his closed lips to the man’s, feeling his own pulse, breathing in deeply.

Dark moved his lips to Glitch’s ear, ran his nose under his jaw. “I love you,” he whispered to the boy, so much sincerity and emotion on his voice.

Glitch’s chest swelled, his throat closed. He opened his green eyes, and tucked his face in Dark’s neck. He was safe with him. He needed him. He loved him.

He shifted, and stuck his knife on Dark's chest. The man choked against his ear. He twisted the knife inside him, and stabbed him again.

And again.

And again.

And  _ again _ .

He closed his eyes, tears running down his cheek. He leaned back, and gently pushed the suited man away from him, laying him down on the floor.

His brown eyes were dull, a trick of blood dripping down his mouth. His white shirt ripped, stained red where the blade had pierced his skin. 

Glitch couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear. The pounding of his heartbeat making his head throb. He left the blade on Dark’s heart, and looked down his bloody hands. He was shaking, and he hyperventilated.

_ What have I done? _

He curled up on his knees, head on the man’s chest. He choked, his whole body wrecking with sobs.

_ Oh, God. No, no, no, no, no. _

He whimpered, clutching Dark’s shirt.

“W-Wake up,” he whispered between tears.

“Please, wake up,” he sniffled, “I-I didn’t mean to!”

Silence. The gutter in the room dripped down consistently. 

“ _ Wake up!” _ He cried, “I-I need you.”

His ears rang loudly, and he crumpled on top of the man. 

His body shook, he closed his eyes.

The pointer of the omnipresent clock ticked.

And Dark laid still.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Your comments inspire me so much, thank you! ♡


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has kicked my ass but I did it! This is the last chapter of Anti's backstory, and it ends right where [Alley Cats](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446434) starts!
> 
> This chapter is full of Shakespeare and Bible quotes, I had some fun with those!

The door opened behind him.

“Oh, my god,” a voice gasped. He raised his head slowly, long bangs over his eyes.

Lucky, the member of the Pack that always wore a red bandana around his neck, looked at him with wide eyes. He moved to get to Dark, and Glitch immediately took his knife out of Dark’s chest and pointed it at him.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warned, green eyes that, after four years, were finally focused on what was in front of him.

“ _ Dark- _ ” 

_ “Don’t!”  _ He shouted. Lucky went silent.

He stood up stiffly, legs cramped after who knows how long sat in that corner. His back cracked loudly, and he grimaced.

“I need gasoline,” he croaked.

Lucky swallowed. “I won’t let you do that.”

He smirked wryly, and threw his knife with terrifying accuracy, missing Lucky's head by an inch. 

“Don’t fucking test me.”

The red-bandana man set his jaw, and nodded.

All present members of the Pack were called for a mass meeting on the back of the warehouse. There was nervous chattering filling the place, and when Glitch stepped outside, everyone went dead quiet.

His steps echoed across the place, and his heartbeat was loud on his ears. Dark’s body was in the middle of the place, covered by a black, old blanket. He avoided looking at it.

He stood in front of him, facing his crowd, and the cold wind of the night blew on his yellow hair and his clothes. He took a deep breath, and stared at the full moon.

“Your previous leader is dead,” he announced, eliciting muttering between all the men. 

He glanced at Lucky, and the man handed a bottle of gasoline over. “You wanted me here,” he continued, “so here I am.”

He downed the black liquid over the body, and puffed his chest in forced firmness. He flicked the lighter on, and closed his eyes. 

“What’s done cannot be undone,” he mutters to himself, and throws the body on fire.

A thunder boomed the sky somewhere, and he watched the flames rise. The light of the fire danced across his face, and everyone stared with wide eyes.  

He stood there for three hours. Some men dissipated, some just went back inside. He didn’t care. Dark had turned to ashes, and the sky turned grey. Another thunder boomed, and rain fell over his head.

He sat on the floor, and hugged his knees, feeling the water soak his clothes. He stared at the ashes turn to mud, and silent tears ran down his cheeks. He looks around to the almost empty space, and huffs dryly.

He looks at the ashes. “Ah, Dark. They, which served and seeked for you,” he said, “will pack, when it begins to rain, and leave you in a storm.” He shook his head.

“Uh- kid,” Lucky's voice called through the sound of the rain.

The boy looked up. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You’re getting soaked.”

“So?”

“C'mon. Let’s go inside.”

“Or what?”

Lucky sighed. “Or you’ll get sick.”

He snorted. “As if you cared,” he muttered, resting his chin on his knees. “I could just die here. I mean, I have nowhere to go anymore. I’m not the same person anymore.”

“Who are you, then?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

A pause. “You’re not staying?”

The young man frowned. “What would I do here?”

“You.. um,  _ attended _ to all of Dark’s meetings for the past four years. You know everything about his business. You’re supposed to be his successor.”

“I’m supposed to be dead.”

“There’s nothing serious about mortality.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What does that even mean?”

They stayed in silence as the storm only seemed to get worse. The ashes had turned into a black, moldy puddle by his feet. He was cold, and his head was quiet. His heart heavy.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be… comforted? No. Awakened. He felt alive for the first time in a long while, and it hurt.

_ I do suffer love, indeed, for I love thee against my will,  _ he thought, and ran his hands through his hair.  _ Well. What do I have to lose? _

It took him a few days to manage to function somewhat properly. He laid curled up in bed—  _ Dark’s _ bed— for at least 4 days straight, and right when he felt himself begin to rot, he took a deep breath, and went to the bathroom. He opened up a few drawers, and found some scissors.  _ That’ll do. _

He looked at the mirror, avoiding his own eyes, and cut his long strands of yellow hair short. It wasn’t perfect, but it matched his own tragedy. He washed his face, and brushed his fingers through his collar. He grimaced.

He took out the big ring of it, so it didn’t look like a collar anymore.  _ Chokers were cool, right? _ He shrugged. The young man looked at his own reflection, and paused.

Brown, messy hair. Giant bags under his eyes. He crooked his horseshoe septum piercing, and shook his head. He looked too much like  _ Andreas _ . But he wasn’t Andreas anymore, was he?

On the bottom drawer, there were several different accessories. Gauges, piercings, hair ties. Maybe Dark planned on changing his style eventually. He sighed.

He took a bottle of alcohol in the sink, and dunk a ring septum piercing on it, switching his own jewelry.  _ Okay. That looks… better. Different. _

He took a bigger silver ring, and deliberated, looking at his own reflection and licking his chapped lips.  _ Hm _ . He searched around, finding a thin needle next to weird medicine in white bottles. 

He dunk the needle on alcohol, and pressed his lips together. He stared at the sharp object.  _ It’s my body. I can do whatever I want.  _ He nodded to himself. He opened his mouth, and pierced his skin. We winced as it stung and bled down his chin, and he took a deep breath at the taste of copper. 

He got the ring through the freshly done hole, and cursed quietly at the pain.  _ I’ve had worse, this is nothing.  _ He washed his lip and dunk alcohol on the wound until it stopped bleeding, and looked up at himself again. The ran his tongue lightly over the silver jewelry, and tugged at his gauges.

He got out of the bathroom, and went through Dark's wardrobe, trying to find anything. Deep inside the bottom drawer, hidden from all light, was a black shirt and baggy ripped jeans. His clothes. Dark had kept them all those years.

He pulled his shirt over his head, and wore his black one instead. It was a bit larger on him now—he had lost a lot of weight. The jeans were supposed to be baggy from the get go, so he didn’t mind much.  _ Everyone saw my bare ass exposed already, _ he thought bitterly, putting the pants over his now much stronger, wider thighs.  _ Huh _ . That made up for the size.

On the same drawer, there was a tube of green hair dye. He paused. Anything was better than Andreas' hair. He went back go the bathroom, and got to work. He was clumsy, and it took a while, but in the end, he washed his hair in the sink, deep green water running down the drain. His fingers were stained green, and so were the tip of his ears, a bit od his nose. He brushed his hands through his newly dyed hair, a deep, forest green, and raised his eyebrows.  _ Not bad, _ he thought.  _ Not bad at all. _

He got out of the room, and squinted at the light coming from the hallway. His bare feet walking across the place. He got down the stairs, and found some of the Pack men hanging around, drinking, and speaking quietly between each other. The chatter stopped as they saw the green-haired man on the staircase. They all stood up.

“Andreas?” Lucky said hesitantly. The young man winced.

“Don’t call me that,” he muttered, then added quickly, “don’t call me the…  _ other _ name either.”

Lucky nodded, and glanced at the other men. 

“What should we call you?” A man with pale skin and pink hair asked.

The boy paused, looking around.

“For now, call me  _ Boss _ .”

And they did. The first year as the Pack's new leader was full of changes. The green-haired man didn’t deal with human trafficking anymore, and focused on drug deals and hitman work. He didn’t get in action much, the thought of sinking his knife into someone was too overwhelming. 

He had his urges, though. His hands trembled for murder, his tongue asked for blood. He mumbled more than he talked, and no one could stress him out too much. He was feared, just like Dark was, but he missed the suited man's elegance. He was brute, raw, a ticking bomb with short wick. A single spark and everything turned red.

The worst parts were the firsts business meetings. He had always hated those. The fancy, arrogant men would arrive with wide eyes, having received the news that Dark was dead. Some wouldn’t even believe it until they saw his former  _ dog _ sat on his leather chair.

The ones too confident of themselves would try to lessen the boy's authority. They’d look at him with disdain, smirk sarcastically watching him over.

“So the hunted becomes the hunter,” a business man once said, picking on his own nails. The green-haired man scowled. 

“What’s your deal in being here? Got new packages for me?” He asked in a bored tone.

The man chuckled. “Yeah, yeah. Piles of stash are on their way. But I’m not here for the rock candy.”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to see you with my own eyes,” the business man stood up slowly, walking around the desk. The green-haired boy tensed, remaining still on his chair. “Dark’s little puppy, finally going rogue.”

The man grabbed the boy’s chin and tilted it forcefully up. The boy grunted. 

“Well, there’s no one to protect you anymore.”

The young man got his knife from his waistband, and sunk it on the visitor’s side. The filthy man gasped, hands moving to press on the wound, and the boy twisted the knife inside him, standing up and, in a swift movement, jabbing at the jugular.

The man dropped on the floor with a heavy thump, and the boy’s ears rang. “I don’t need anyone to protect me,” he muttered, stepping on the body’s slashed throat, blood seeping out on the floor. “I don’t need anyone.”

 

On the second year, someone tried to kill him. Of course, mafia leaders weren’t exactly surrounded by the most trusting people. 

They were out in the streets, vandalizing a random neighbourhood. It was fun, to be so careless. They’d kick dumpsters down, spray paint brick walls. Maybe scare a lone night walker. It didn’t really matter.

He was out with Lucky, Digger— a man with bushy eyebrows and a buzzcut, green eyes with a hint of sick yellow—, and Roger, a new member who didn’t talk much. Not that the green-haired man minded.

They were in a dark alley somewhere, and the boy looked at the moon. The pale light turning his hair bluish, and the streetlamp hit the side of his face, casting a shadow on the rest of his body. Lucky was shaking a spray paint can, the metallic sound echoing on the walls, and Digger was… somewhere. He shrugged. 

He leaned on the brick wall on his side, and crossed his arms on his chest. Then he felt a wave of electricity run through his body, and he gasped, body going stiff. A cold blade was placed on his neck, and he tensed.

“What the fu-  _ ah!” _ Another wave hit him, and his eyes rolled back. He gritted his teeth, breathing heavily. His hands twitched, and he was lightheaded.

“I always wanted to see what they all talked about,” a voice hissed on his ear. “To see your face as you were shocked into submission.”

“Don’t fucking t-test me,” his voice cracked as he winced, yet another shock going through his body. His legs trembled with the tension.

“Or what?” Roger's voice said, chuckling grimly, and as he was about to tase the green-haired man again, the boy took a deep breath, and elbowed the attacker on the side.

Roger grunted, dropping the taser, and the boy took the knife out of his hands, sinking it between the man’s eyes. He dropped instantly. He heard steps behind him, and he turned in a pouncing position.

Both silhouettes coming closer raised their hands, and the streetlamp light uncovered their faces. The boy panted, his neck twitching by the electric shocks.

“Boss, it’s just us,” Lucky's voice hit his ears, and he frowned.

“What happened?” Digger asked, walking closer in slow steps, hands still up.

“Roger,” the boy muttered, slowly relaxing his stance.

“Son of a bitch,” Lucky sighed, and the boy took a step back, leaning against the wall for support. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he lied, and ran a hand through his green curls. “Let’s go back.”

A few more murder attempts were made, but the boy killed each one of the attackers. His reputation as the bloodthirsty leader only grew and grew. He didn’t mind it. After all, being feared hurt less than being loved.

Be bloody bold, and resolute. 

In the third year, the Pack already didn’t leave in the same, stable warehouse. They’d move around, from city to city, and the green-haired man preferred it that way. He didn’t like staying in one place for too long. He needed to move, too always keep going.

If he stopped, he’d drop. 

One night, the Pack decided to throw in a party. The ones that Dark used to organize every few weeks. The boy didn’t really want to, but his gang could use a bit of fun.

He didn’t like to drink much, the taste of alcohol too bitter, but he did take some shots to blend in, and ease his own anxiety. 

He looked around the abandoned place they were staying that night, all the stolen colourful lights blinking and the music pounding on his ears. People were dancing around, drinking, smoking. Some prostitutes being fucked in the corner, bare for anyone to see. He grimaced, taking another burning shot down his throat.

Moans, laughter, glass smashing on the floor. Bodies dropping and backs hitting the walls. The smell of sweat, and sex, and weed filled his nostrils, and the green-haired man had a headache.

Too loud, everything was so  _ loud _ . He hated this. He wanted to leave.  He could feel a sensory overload coming, his breathing kicking up. He haven’t felt this for so long.  _ Why now? _

He knew the answer to his own question. He haven’t had an anxiety attack in years because whenever he felt overwhelmed, Dark was there to protect him. To comfort him.  _ Fuck _ . He ran his hands through his hair, and left the place by the backdoor.

A few more people were making out or giving head in the back alleyway, but it was mostly quiet. He took a deep breath.  _ Okay, you’re okay. Just breathe. _

He kicked the wall with a frustrated shout, his actions ignored by the drunk people around doing their thing. He leaned his back in the cold wall, and slipped down to the floor, resting his head on his hands, elbows propped on his knees.   _ God dammit. _

He heard the door opening by his side, the light filling up the alleyway for a second, then it being closed again. 

“We’re gonna have some fun,” Lucky's voice hit his ears. He looked up.

Lucky was walking towards a dark corner of the alley, with a young man being pulled by his arm. The teenager had wobbly legs, and was clearly,  _ extremely _ drunk. 

“Lucky?” The green-haired man called. Lucky looked up.

“Oh, hi Boss,” he greeted, keeping his… companion steady by his shoulders.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Lucky smirked, gesturing to the people fondling on the walls. “Look around,” he said lightly, “I’m just havin' my own treat.”

He frowned. “He’s… very drunk.”

Lucky patted the drunk boy’s cheek, his brown eyes hazy, leaning against the red-bandana man for support. “So is everyone here.”

“How old is he?”

Lucky chuckled. “Gee, Boss, do you want him for yourself? Why so interested? He’s just my boytoy for tonight,” he said, then tilted the boy’s chin to face him. “How old are you, baby?”

The boy paused, as if trying to understand what he was asked. “S-Sixteen…” he said blearily. 

Lucky smiled. “Well, there you have it. Now if you don’t mind, Boss, the kid has work to do.”

The green-haired man grimaced as both men walked away into the shadows. He shook his head, and let them be.  _ Fucked up prick.  _ He sighed, and just went back inside to down another shot.

 

Life went on, the fourth year in charge coming quickly. Not that he realized it. Time seemed to go by so fast, yet so imperceptibly, as if nothing ever changed.

The green-haired man knew that was far from true, though. Everything was constantly changing, including himself.  _ Specially _ himself.

Every ticking of the clock, and he got further away from who he once was. He didn’t really have a purpose anymore.

Like he came out of a wicked, rotten chrysalis, and his new wings were entirely grey. He was a sad, monochrome butterfly that learned how to fly, only to get too close to the sun and come back down. A morbid Icarus that bled as he fell in the arms of putrid leaves.

He was raw, rough around the edges, and he was broken. His green eyes cold and smirk sharp. Hands deep on his pocket, ready to torment whoever stood on his way.

He stood quietly in a dark corner of an alleyway, on a peaceful neighbourhood he was about to ruin. He watched as the leader of the local gang walked alone in the moonlight, and he smirked. The guy was pretty, and would be fun to piss off.

No one could really blame him for being like this; a bother, a nuisance to peace. That was just who he was, or who he came to be.

Like the opposite of everything that he used to believe in, years ago. Like an antithesis of himself.

An Anti-Andreas, whoever that boy was. An Anti-everything.

An  _ Anti _ , that’s what he was. 

_ Who _ he was.

If he even had the right to be anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun writing this backstory and reading your comments and asks on Tumblr! Hope you liked it, and we'll back at our lover boys soon! ♡

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Leave a comment to make my day!
> 
>  
> 
> [Wanna talk about it? Hit me up on Tumblr!](http://plutosin.tumblr.com/)
> 
> [Drug Implied.](https://www.drugs.com/illicit/ghb.html)
> 
> [Flower Meanings Reference.](http://www.languageofflowers.com/flowermeaning.htm)
> 
> Sasha's drawing! :|[1](https://trashcansasha.tumblr.com/post/173605377362/trust-me-it-will-be-relevant-to-the-bikerau-at)| |[2](https://trashcan-dirt.tumblr.com/post/177632479876/a-cheeky-maria-and-a-tired-andreas-from-the-first)|
> 
> Fanart!: |[1](https://hsintl.tumblr.com/post/177706144926/i-cant-caption-this-p-but-i-wanna-say-this-is)|


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